


fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

by mercuryhatter



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Or Die, Hastur is only in the background, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Trans Male Character, can you be stone butch if you're an angel, sort of I mean they're angels they can have whatever junk they want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: Pretty standard "there's a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated" stuff.





	fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

**Author's Note:**

> I have very little excuse for this except that I'm gay and venus is in retrograde or something

Crowley considered it part of his job to receive as much junk mail as possible. After all, that had been one of his own inventions, and he enjoyed following their progress throughout the years. Even though the people he’d first influenced to start the trend were long dead, and he supposed after the Notpocalypse he didn’t exactly have a job anymore, but a demon had to have hobbies. So despite the fact that Crowley knew very few people who would use his address on purpose to send him mail in particular, his mailbox was always overflowing and he checked it every day.

 

He had just finished fondly chuckling over a signed check for £300, which, had he a) had a bank account and b) deposited said check into the bank account that he didn’t have, would have immediately put him significantly more than £300 in debt after the interest and late fees, when he abruptly decided that mail was overrated after all. Not because of the check, which he personally felt he deserved a commendation for had Hell still been giving out such things. No, the item that ended his love affair with mail was in the next envelope. It was oddly heavy for a letter advertising his eligibility for a terrible credit card, but the humans were always innovating, so he opened it anyway.

 

A small bronze medallion rolled out onto his hand. He turned it over, puzzled, then abruptly went white and dropped it on the floor. His blood, which his body had just now decided would be convenient to have, ran very cold and then very hot.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered. Crowley shook the envelope frantically for a clue why this had been sent to him and if he had any hope of avoiding the consequences of touching it, and a piece of parchment fell out, smelling strongly of brimstone.

 

 **_FUCK YOU :-)_ ** it said on the front in spiky, Hellish calligraphy. On the back, scribbled in shorthand like an afterthought, it said **_FROM HASTUR._ **

 

Of course it was.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crowley said again. He could already feel the medallion’s curse working on his body, burning in the pit of his stomach and sending his skin tingling. He hadn’t expected this sort of thing from Hastur, who was usually much more hands-on. Then again, Hastur was nothing if not old-fashioned, and the medallion was probably as old as the age that bore its metal’s name.

 

Maybe he would be able to wait it out. The curse was made for humans, after all. Maybe if he just focused on something else his body would forget to notice it.

 

Several hours later, it became very clear that this was not an option. Another couple of hours after that, it became even more clear that the curse was not about to let him take care of matters himself.

 

Crowley really wished he had literally any better ideas than going to see Aziraphale. But it was better than allowing his discorporation and going to see Hastur. So, muscling past his increasing discomfort, he went.

 

###

 

Crowley inviting himself into Aziraphale’s shop unannounced was so far from unusual that his entrance this time, with a dramatic bang of the door and a shouted “Aziraphale!” registered as extremely alarming. Aziraphale scrambled out from behind his desk and into the main room. Crowley was bracing himself in the doorway, looking absolutely terrible. His long hair was frizzing around his narrow face, something he almost never allowed. His glasses were askew and his shirt was buttoned wrong, and there was sweat gleaming on his high cheekbones. He stood panting in the entryway for a moment more before leaning his head against a bookshelf, letting the door bang shut behind him. The door thought it wise at that moment that now was a good time to be locked and shuttered, and so it was.

 

“It was in my mail,” Crowley moaned unhelpfully. Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised in consternation.

 

“Dear boy, what was?” He stepped forward to take Crowley’s arms, eliciting the strangest reaction wherein Crowley initially leaned forward like he was starving for the contact, then jerked himself away, bumping ungracefully into another shelf.

 

“Curse,” Crowley muttered. His glasses fell off completely as he pressed his hands to his face, then pulled one of them away to yank something out of his pocket and let it fall to the floor. “Whatever you do, _don’t_ touch it.” Crowley let himself slide the rest of the way to the floor with a small huff.

 

Aziraphale bent to examine the object, careful not to touch it as instructed. It was a medallion, palm-sized, probably bronze and very old. Cramped lettering wound around the edges in a spiral, leading to a glyph in the center that appeared to be… yes. A tiny phallus. Aziraphale deciphered the legible portions of writing and then looked up at Crowley, aghast.

 

“Oh, Crowley, no.”

 

“Yep,” Crowley groaned miserably. “Hastur, of course, the filthy thrice-blessed bastard.” He was slowly curling in on himself, hands shaking over his face until he pressed them to the floor as if to keep them still.

 

“I know it’s probably not how you planned to spend your evening, angel, but-- ugh-- I think this would count as a good deed if there ever was one…?” He opened his eyes to look at Aziraphale imploringly.

 

“Goodness,” Aziraphale murmured. “Well, of course, my dear, I can’t just leave you like this.” Crowley let out a string of vocalizations that probably, judging by his tone, contained a thank you somewhere amid the blessing and incoherent hissing.

 

“Come on then,” Aziraphale sighed, gathering Crowley up. If he was going to help with this little _problem_ , he certainly wasn’t going to do it down here in front of all the books. Unfortunately, the skin-to-skin contact turned Crowley immediately into a keening, writing mess, and in his eagerness to work his hands beneath Aziraphale’s shirt he sent them both toppling over.

 

“Sssorry,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry at all and definitely not ceasing his attack on Aziraphale’s buttons. “Please…?”

 

“Yes, all right. Once here to take the edge off and then we _are_ going to the bedroom,” Aziraphale said sternly. Crowley only mewled in answer, face buried in Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale finally took pity on him and stuck his hand down the demon’s trousers.

 

The medallion, of course, was a curse, as Crowley mentioned. And as the phallus suggested and the writing confirmed, the victim of the curse… well, essentially they had to have quite a lot of orgasms in an improbably short amount of time. The part about what would happen if they didn’t was a bit smudged, but Aziraphale had gathered that it had something to do with _literal_ fires of the flesh. Crowley would recover from such a consequence eventually, but it would be dreadfully embarrassing for him to end up back in Hell because of Hastur’s little joke. Besides, it wasn’t as if Aziraphale minded assisting. So many times in a row was sure to get tedious after a while, but waiting weeks for Crowley to get a new body would have been more so.

 

Crowley had clearly been waiting much longer than was advisable, and so Aziraphale brought him off easily. He had a vulva down there at the moment, which Aziraphale thought was wise under the circumstances. It also allowed Aziraphale to work through the aftershocks for a second orgasm right after the first, for efficiency’s sake. Crowley came embarrassingly near to thanking an actual celestial entity before catching himself.

 

“Better?” Aziraphale asked, taking back his hand.

 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, betrayed by the fact that his hips shifted to follow Aziraphale’s hand as he reclaimed it. “Well, a little. It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it.”

 

“Longer for you than for me, I think,” Aziraphale said sympathetically, getting to his feet and reaching down to pull Crowley up as well. Crowley stood twitchily, making a visible effort to keep from touching Aziraphale again. Aziraphale made to wrap his arm around Crowley’s waist for the walk upstairs to the bedroom, but Crowley shied away with difficulty.

 

“Not unless you want to go on the floor again,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

 

“Right.”

 

The curse was unclear on exactly how many orgasms were necessary to avert the fiery end, but Crowley was quite certain he would know when it was over. They dispensed with clothes upon reaching the bedroom, settling in for the long run.

 

“Any requests?” Aziraphale said wryly once Crowley was laid out on the bed, prompting the demon to half-heartedly whip a pillow at his head.

 

“This is embarrassing enough, angel, just get on with it,” he said, but there was a small curl to the corner of his mouth that told Aziraphale he wasn’t quite as upset with the situation as he might have been. Aziraphale took the offending pillow and slid it under Crowley’s hips, causing a sharp intake of breath. It turned into a moan as Aziraphale put his mouth where it was needed. He got six more out of that, in clever hums and swirls of tongue punctuated with his soft hands on Crowley’s hips, reaching up his chest, dipping down to press inside him.

 

“That’s really good, angel,” Crowley sighed, shifting almost sleepily. Aziraphale sat up to brush Crowley’s hair from his face, leaving his hand on the side of Crowley’s neck. He had a pulse at the moment and it was fluttering wildly beneath Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale found it charming. He waited until Crowley’s movements looked less sated and more frantic, and then started in again.

 

By eight o’clock they had achieved 38 orgasms-- Aziraphale was kindly keeping track, because Crowley was finding it very difficult to keep track of anything. By ten, Aziraphale had gotten a little bored, and so he carried Crowley to the bedroom’s loveseat where he let the demon ride his fingers while he read a book. He rather thought that it was less the curse’s influence than Crowley’s basic personality when the demon decided that this sort of treatment wasn’t going to fly after five orgasms and crawled into Aziraphale’s lap to demand more attention.

 

They spent another ten orgasms like that, Crowley delivering urgent kisses with his hands wound tightly into Aziraphale’s hair while Aziraphale thrust up into him. After a while Aziraphale forgot not to make the effort and came himself with a little gasp of surprise. He felt Crowley’s drowsy answering smile against his lips.

 

Now that it had happened once, Aziraphale found himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind coming a few more times himself. But Crowley was already exhausted and they were barely past number 70 for him. One of them needed to stay awake through this whole process or Crowley would be right back where he started.

 

After a few more rounds in the bed, Aziraphale took advantage of the legs wrapped around him to lean back and lift Crowley from the bed. He carried him to the bathroom, which had just now decided to be in working order again, and was running a pleasantly steaming shower by the time they got there. It had also sprouted a tiled bench that hadn’t been there the last time Aziraphale had checked (although, to be fair, he didn’t think he’d looked in here since h bought the place). Aziraphale deposited Crowley there and went to his knees on the floor.

 

“I really am sorry about this,” Crowley murmured, almost too soft to be heard and sibilant to be understood. Aziraphale glanced up. Crowley’s eyes were half-lidded and his head lolled against the shower wall.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, dear,” Aziraphale said, nudging Crowley’s thighs apart. His hands on Crowley’s skin made the demon shiver, and he rubbed it soothingly.

 

“But ssstill. I know this isn’t your--” He broke off with a soft sigh when Aziraphale pressed the flat of his tongue to Crowley’s clit, then began moving it in slow circles. It took him a few moments to catch his breath enough to speak again. “What I was _sssaying_ , is I know this isn’t your favorite part of our whole…” He waved a hand vaguely to encompass the turn his and Aziraphale’s relationship had taken in recent years with very little comment or clarification from either of them. Aziraphale sat up, eliciting a pained sound and twitch of hips from Crowley at the loss.

 

“Crowley,” he said, surprised and a little offended. “Do you think I don’t enjoy this?”

 

“I jussst know it isn’t exactly in your repertoire,” Crowley said, opening his eyes. At Aziraphale’s raised eyebrow, he roused himself enough to start rambling. “I mean, obviously you don’t mind it _that_ much or you wouldn’t do it, but I know you probably wouldn’t bother if I didn’t. And I appreciate it, I really do! Essspecially when it takes up your whole night, but I suppose what I mean is I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take a break for a few decades after--”

 

“ _Dear_ boy,” Aziraphale said, in the tone that meant Crowley had missed something extremely obvious. He maintained eye contact with Crowley, even as his fingers were hard at work inside him again to keep him from getting too uncomfortable while they hashed this out. Luckily, Aziraphale was very used to things flying over Crowley’s head when it came to him.

 

“It’s true that I probably wouldn’t bother with sex if it didn’t make you happy.” Crowley blushed at this, then bit his lip as Aziraphale’s fingers twisted inside him. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t _enjoy_ it. First of all, if nothing else I enjoy making you happy. But happy from a good wine or a walk in the park or a pleasing dinner is completely different compared to…” As illustration, he curved his fingers inside Crowley, thumb rubbing circles around his clit, while his other hand ran gently up Crowley’s hip. Crowley’s face twisted and he moaned, head clunking against the shower wall behind him. Shivers went through his body as Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss below his navel, eyes still canted upward to watch Crowley’s face.

 

“Yes. That,” he continued. He pulled his fingers out of Crowley and sat next to him on the bench, pressed close, and held his face in both hands. Crowley opened his eyes again, bleary but also faintly surprised, and another, extremely non-demonic emotion as well. Aziraphale very kindly did not comment on it. “That is something else entirely, and I would not give up the power to cause it myself for anything. Do you understand?” He gave Crowley a deep, searching kiss, smoothing back his hair.

 

“Yes,” gasped Crowley. “I think. Um. Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, smiling, and went back to his knees. He maneuvered Crowley under the spray after that, washing the sweat and slick from his skin, and they went again with Crowley propped on the bathroom counter before Aziraphale could find the towels. That was when Aziraphale forgot himself and came a second time, just from watching the expressions flicker across Crowley’s face.

 

“It’sss not contagious, is it?” Crowley asked when he noticed, grinning. Aziraphale just kissed him, and kept kissing him the whole way back to the bedroom.

 

There was dawn light peeking between the curtains when Crowley sat up, startled. Aziraphale’s face had been between his legs again and he looked up, curious.

“That’s it,” Crowley gasped, then looked down at Aziraphale and beamed. “We did it, angel. It’s done.” He fell back against the pillows and laughed weakly, and when Aziraphale joined him he noticed the faint shine of tears sneaking out from beneath Crowley’s lush eyelashes. He kissed them gently away, which Crowley studiously pretended not to notice.

 

“Wow,” he said, and then yawned hugely. “Well. I owe you one-- er, or--”

 

“One hundred and sixty exactly,” Aziraphale supplied helpfully, and Crowley laughed again.

 

“Yes. That. But if you don’t mind first I think I’d like to nap for about a week.”

 

“You are welcome to do so here, my dear.” Crowley, who had been trying to sit up as if to leave the bed, immediately collapsed into Aziraphale’s side.

 

“ _Thank_ you, angel,” he muttered, somewhere in the vicinity of Aziraphale’s collarbone. Aziraphale was fairly certain he was asleep before Aziraphale had even said that he was very, very welcome.


End file.
